


Beware the Grim

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Church Grim Folklore, F/M, Ghosts, Jonerys, Magic, Modern AU, Murder Mystery, Past/Present AU, R+L does not equal J, Supernatural Elements, The Long Winter, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-12-13 23:50:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21006221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Long Winter ravages the North and the rest of Westeros, leaving Winterfell without a King. A mysterious crime results in the death of Jon Snow, who is laid to rest in a strange place.Centuries pass, and Daenerys must solve the mystery of his death, while unraveling her own dark past.Jonerys Halloween/Supernatural Love Story





	1. The Last Stark

**Author's Note:**

> I knoww, I'm starting a new WIP and I have two unfinished ones, don't murder me! I wanted to do something for Halloween, so here it is :D 
> 
> Context: In this Story, Jon was sent to the Wall and essentially forgotten. Robb was KiTN before the Long Night, which in my story is a little different. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

PROLOGUE 

August 20th, in the year 300.

Winterfell.

They found the body still warm, dumped in a snowbank near the Wall. Red blood trickled from each wound, slowly turning to ice. He’d been stabbed multiple times, the flesh hanging loose and jagged from between slits in black leather. Someone had tried to cover his face with a fur, but the winter winds had lifted it, exposing the identity of the slain man.

The two men exchanged glances, at a loss for what to do. Word would travel soon, but now it was past the hour of the wolf, and the heat rising from the corpse and the fresh boot prints in the snow meant that this crime would remain a secret, at least for the time being.

“Who do you think did it then?” the shorter of the two men asked, his breath muffled by the balaclava he wore. His companion shrugged, moving towards the body. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?” He bent to grab at the feet of the corpse.A blood curdling snarl came from behind the men. They turned, rigid with fear. Out from the shadows of the Wall the White Wolf emerged, teeth bared and hackles raised. Pacing between the body and the two men, its red eyes a warning.

The two men exchanged glances. The White Wolf answered for only one man in the North.

“Easy now boy,” the first man said, gloved hands raised. “We can’t leave him here. Let us take him back. To Winterfell.”

The wolf circled the body once more, eyeing both men suspiciously. A last, it let out a whimper and settled back, lying with his body turned to the quickly freezing corpse, tail tucked between his legs. The two men moved again, slowly, so as not to disturb the beast. They took hold of the arms and feet, hefting the body up.

“Gods be good, but he’s heavy,” the second man wheezed, dropping a foot. The snow muffled the thud, but both men winced anyway. The first man shushed his friend loudly. “Speak not of the gods now, are ye daft?! Take him under the arms, then, there you go.”

With great effort, they settled the body over their shoulders and stood adjusting to the weight. Around them, the night was darkly cold and black. The Wall loomed behind, a sickly breeze coming off the great icy expanse.

“We have to tell the family,” the first man said after a moment. His voice was rough from the cold. The second man nodded. “Aye,” he whispered. “But they’re long gone from Winterfell now. Both the girls fled to the Riverlands during the revolt. Not a soul who knows if they’re alive or dead.” The second man swore loudly. “And the boys?” he asked, as they started to move away from the Wall. Behind them the White Wolf trailed, silent as snowfall.

The first man shook his head, though his friend couldn’t see in front of him. “All dead. The Grey Wolf, dead. And the two boys. Lannisters.”

“Lannisters,” the second man swore. They walked in silence for a while, the crunch of snow and the wail of the wind the only sounds in the night. The presence of the wolf made both men extra wary, made the trek more perilous than it already was. An hour passed, and the night grew darker as dawn approached. Two hours, and the darkest hour of the night was upon them. The White Wolf moved to walk in front, his ghostly form reflecting the moonglow, acting as a beacon. Finally, they reached the edge of town. The gates, once an icon of strength and fortitude, stood battered and covered in scrap wood nailed to protect it from enemy forces. The Stark Banner hung tattered from the watchtower. A single light shone from within, growing brighter as the shutters were thrown open.

“Who goes there? Speak yer name!”

“Ben Rees and Young Beron!” yelled the first man. The watchman leaned out the open window, lantern in hand.

“Who is the true king in the North?” the watchman questioned.

“The Winter King, the Grey Wolf.”

The watchman disappeared into the tower, the light vanishing with him. A moment later, he appeared at the gate, pulling them open with a great lever and ushering the men inside.

“Cor, Donnis, you know right well who we are,” exclaimed the first man, using one hand to tug his balaclava free from his face. “We were right freezing out there!”

The watchman, Donnis, shrugged. “Can’t be too careful, Ben. These are dark times. Speaking’ of, how have you two managed to keep goin’ these past months?”

Ben shifted his feet. “Been working as trappers, mostly. Folk don’t care who your allegiance is to when you provide them with fresh meat.” He laughed. “Not that there’s much of that to go around in any case, not after the freeze.”

Donnis nodded. “May the Long Winter thaw,” he atoned. Ben nodded. “And the Grey Wolf return.”

Donnis peered over Ben’s shoulder at the body wrapped in fur then, curious. “Who’s this then? Another unfortunate caught in the freeze?”

Young Beron spoke up. “It’s the Grey Wolf’s own brother! Stabbed to death by the Wall”

Donnis scoffed. “There are no more Starks that walk this earth, lad. You’re daft to think we’ll any of us see another here in Winterfell. Let’s see him then.”

They dropped the body down on the hard earth, unrolling the furs. The blood had frozen through by then, chipping away from his clothes as the men lay him right on the ground. In the lantern light the stab wounds were a garish pink and grey, flesh peeling from the muscle and bone. His face, white and bone and stiff, was a hard sight to see. His eye were open, grey looking up into the sky. They reflected no light, only the cloudless sky above, but the features were unmistakeable.

“By the Seven,” whispered Donnis. “It’s him.” He knelt by the body, trembling as he took in the face of the forgotten brother of the Grey Wolf. He looked up at the two men who regarded him with great sadness in their eyes. “How did this happen?” he croaked.

Ben shook his head sadly. “Poor soul was the bastard son of Eddard Stark. Heard tell he was left up at the Wall. Missed everything that happened down here, the war, the famine. All of it, just to end up stabbed in a snowbank.”

Donnis wiped a tear from his eye with a gloved hand. “To think he might have been the last Stark, only a few months ago.” He stood abruptly, shaking the sadness from his bones. He looked to the sky, where the light was beginning to show over the trees. “We must bury him before dawn’s light. Let’s get him down to the Godswood, get it done ‘fore it’s too late to do it.”

Ben and Young Beron looked at each other. “Donnis,” Ben started. “The lad’s a bastard. Lord knows what people will think of laying him to rest in the Godswood. It’d be hard enough to get him in the crypts, been’ a Snow and all. The Godswood is too holy.”

The old watchman groaned, lifting his hands to his face. “Do you think people give a damn anymore about bastards or crypts? Well, some might, but I don’t give one damned thought about it. Let the lad rest in dignity, won’t you?”

An uncomfortable silence followed before Young Beron spoke again. “I think we should lay him in the Godswood,” he said quietly. Ben turned on him. “You daft, boy? He’ll be a ghost for the rest of his days, a bastard laid to rest in a holy place.”

Young Beron hesitated, then said “Mayhap that be a good thing then. A ghost of Stark is better than no Stark at all, I say.”

Donnis chimed in. “The Gods have forsaken us all, Ben. Let there be some justice for a son of Stark.”

At daybreak, the three men stood solemnly over the grave of Jon Snow, carved beneath a Weirdwood. Dawn broke over Winterfell, and the sun warmed them as they murmured farewells and muttered prayers over the cold earth.

When they left, the Godswood was silent once more, save for the crunch of snow as great paws tread carefully among the trees.

Ghost lay his head upon the unmarked grave, a low whine escaping him. He closed his eyes, and drew his last breath upon his master’s grave.

Above him, the face of the Weirwood gasped in a frozen scream, empty eyes weeping red blood.


	2. The Red Cross and the Weirwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Introducing Dany :D

August 13th, in the year 1507

King’s College for Women, New Winter Town

The walls in Headmaster Jorah’s study were papered a garish pattern of dancing bears and wolves. Dany had been sitting pretending to listen to him for ten minutes, but was continually distracted by those bears, paws raised in a never-ending dance. She wondered absently how it must feel to be a dancing bear in Jorah’s study. Those dead paper eyes seemed to bore into her soul. She blinked.

“Miss Targaryen?”

She shifted uncomfortably in the high backed chair, fiddling with her skirt. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Jorah sighed. “Miss Targaryen, please try to understand me. This is the only girl’s college in Westeros, save Dorne, and I don’t want to have to write to your brother to tell him his sister is squandering her education to play doctor with the riff raff.”

Dany stiffened, hands curling into fists. She tried to remember her lessons with Missandei, breathing deeply to abate the rage she felt, but it was no use. “I’m not playing doctor!” she blurted. “And they’re not riff raff, they’re people. Honestly, I don’t understand why it’s such a terrible thing for me to volunteer at the Red Cross. All we do is help people.”

Jorah sighed again, rubbing one hand over his face. “It’s not fit for a lady of your stature, Miss Targaryen. I understand your friends doing it, Missandei and the others, but they’re not of your nobility. Your brother entrusted you to this school for the sole purpose of achieving an education befitting your breeding, as well as securing an alliance between Essos and Westeros. I’m sorry, Daenerys, but I simply cannot turn a blind eye to this behavior. You must promise me to stop this Red Cross nonsense, or I shall have to write to your brother.” 

Behind him, a dancing bear caught Dany’s eye. In its flat eyes, Dany imagined she saw a hint of sympathy. They were one and the same, she and the dancing bear. Caught in a play-like farce, a performance for other’s merriment. For a moment, Dany considered telling Jorah to stuff it, and run away into the countryside. She could live like the wildlings, or catch a ship to Braavos. Then she reminded herself of what her brother would think, and what would become of Missandei. She breathed through her nose, calming herself.

“Thank you, Mr. Mormont. There’s no need to write my brother, I promise the visits will stop.”

He relaxed immediately, trying and failing to hide a nervous smile of relief. “I’m so glad you saw reason, Miss Targaryen. Now, I trust your lessons are going well otherwise?”

Dany rolled her eyes. “I study at the most prestigious girl’s college in Westeros and I have my own personal tutor. There’s no need to worry about my studies, Mr. Mormont.”

He cleared his throat, face red. “Well then, in that case I think our meeting is done. Unless you’d like to talk about anything else? Family? Friends?”

Dany fought the urge to make a face. “No, thank you. I really should be going.”

Jorah nodded. “Alright then.” He rose, going to the study door and opening it for her. Dany followed, shaking her skirts out as she rose. She tried not to rush as she left, forcing herself to walk sedately through the doorway. She heard Jorah begin to swing the door shut behind her and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, and Miss Targaryen?” 

Dany turned. Jorah stood in the partially open doorway, eyebrow raised. “Please see to it that you also stop wearing trousers under your dress uniform.”

She flushed and nodded, then fled down the hallway. She didn’t stop until she reached the residential wing of the college, pulling open the heavy doors to her private suite. She flopped down on the bed, pressing her face into the cool pillow.

“I take it you received a scolding, then?”

Dany turned her face to see her tutor, Missandei, walk into the room. They shared the suite, Missandei sleeping in adjoining chambers. Dany remembered begging Viserys to let her have a normal dormitory with a roommate, but he’d refused. As always, the chief complaint was that a lady of noble birth could never stoop so low so as to use the same facilities as the riff raff. At least he’d let Missandei share with her, which was a comfort to both young women.

“It’s awful, Missy.” Dany sniffed. “He made me promise not to go back to Red Cross.”She sat up, and patted the bed beside her for Missandei to sit with her. The other woman sat, and Dany flopped back down into her pillow, her skirt riding up. “And he saw my trousers,” she mumbled, kicking one leg out for Missandei to examine. Her friend laughed. “Well that’s easy to hide. You just have to wear riding trousers instead of these men’s trousers you insist on.”

“What am I going to do, Missy? I can’t possibly just quit nursing, I’ve done too much to stop now!”

Missandei bit her lip, pensive. “Is it so much more important to you than college?”

Dany nodded. “Viserys sent me here to become an educated lady so it’d be easier to find me a husband of noble birth. I don’t have any academic aspirations, Missy, I want to help people. The only reason I stay is because Vis would never agree to paying your tuition if you weren’t tutoring me, and you’re the one with a future here, not me.”

Missandei blushed, her deep skin turning a rosy pink. “I don’t know about that, Daenerys…”

Dany rolled her eyes. “Don’t be coy, Missandei. You speak nineteen languages, _and_ you’re good at maths. You could do anything you wanted to.” She rolled over and brushed her pale hair out of her face. “I just want to help people. You’ve heard the talk, there might be a war between the six kingdoms and Dorne soon. If that happens the Red Cross will be on the frontlines healing the men, and I want to be there when it happens.”

They sat a moment, both deep in thought. Missandei broke the silence, her smooth accented voice raising a solution to Dany’s problems. “What if you switch places with Doreah?”

Dany shot up, taking both of Missandei’s hands in hers. “What do you mean?” she asked excitedly.

“Well, you both have the Valerian coloring. Her hair isn’t as pale, but she’s your height, and she’s only a year older. She could go to your lectures, I’m sure no one would know better, at least for a while. That could give you time to finish your training and think of a way out of your promise to Viserys.”

Dany pulled her friend into a firm embrace, grinning into Missandei’s shoulder. “You’re a genius and a lifesaver, Missandei! I shall do exactly that. Oh, I think this just might work!”

That same night, Daenerys snuck out of the college dorms. She wrapped her nurse’s uniform carefully, placing it in a brown satchel, along with her cap and stockings. She quickly arranged her pillows to look like her sleeping form, fluffing the covers up to disguise everything. It was rare for anyone to disturb her suite, but she knew Jorah would be waiting to catch her on the sly, so she took extra precautions. She left Missandei a note, tucking it beneath her friend’s pillow, then quietly left the dorms.

Getting off the school grounds was easier than it should have been, given that it was a girl’s college with Westeros’ most eligible and educated women. It was built out of the remains of an old watchtower from centuries ago, the original tower still standing on the far side of the campus. Few people knew that the watchtower had a hidden door that led out into the town, but Dany had found it early in her first term at the college. She ran there under the cover of twilight, the last rays of sun disappearing beyond the pines. Even so far North, the summer days stretched out well into the evening, the sun refusing to set until almost nine’o’clock. Dany hurried out of the tower and into the town, stepping carefully over cobbled streets and over flooded gutters.

The Red Cross nurses worked out of the New Winter Town Hospital, and trainees did their night shifts in the old surgical ward. Dany murmured hellos to the nurses she passed as she made her way to the linen closet, then dressed quickly, discarding her school clothes into her satchel. She hated the King’s College uniform, with its long black skirts and stiff, scratchy blouses, but she quite liked the nurse’s uniform. It was smart, pressed white cotton and wide apron. It made her feel capable, powerful. She glanced in the mirror to adjust her cap, and then she was out the door.

In the surgical ward, the head nurse, Jenny, directed the girls to their stations. “Right, ladies! Thank you all for making it tonight, now let’s get to it. We’re working on stitches again today, so please find a sharps kit and thread from the supplier bin. Make it quick, please!”

Dany pulled out her sharps kit and did a few quick practice stitches on a piece of leather she’d nicked from the supply closet. She didn’t mind doing stitches, but she had yet to practice on a person yet, and wanted to make sure her hand was steady.

“Blimey, you’re alright at that.”

Dany turned, seeing a dark haired girl standing at the station next to hers. She wore a Red Cross uniform, but it was mussed and untidy, cap askew and apron a size too large. She had a long face, and piercing grey eyes. Dany smiled, and smoothed her hand over the stitched leather. “Thank you. Are you new to the night shift?”

The girl made a face. “Me? No, I’m just here because of my cousin.”

“Your cousin?” Dany asked. The girl jerked her head towards Jenny, who was making her way down the row of women.

“That’s her. She makes me join in now and again, says I need to keep my hands busy or I’ll get into trouble.”

Dany looked between the two women, not quite believing her. This girl was as different from Jenny as could be. The head nurse had bright copper hair and warm brown eyes, and she was a maternal, by the rules type of woman. Dany tried to find some resemblance, but couldn’t. The girl looked bemusedly at her. “Don’t see it, eh? Nobody does, it’s alright.” She stuck a hand out to Dany, and grinned, teeth sharp. “Name’s Lyanna.”

Dany took the proffered hand and shook it. “Dany,” she said. “Lyanna. That’s a very traditional name, isn’t it?”

Lyanna shrugged. “Take it up with my ma if you don’t like it. Every girl in my family has been a Lyanna, a Visenya, or an Arya. Medieval type names, if you ask me. I’d love to be named something modern, like Helen.” She looked up and pulled a face. “Uh oh, prissy girl incoming.”

“Lyanna, don’t be rude,” Jenny chastised. She smiled at Dany. “Daenerys, lovely to see you. I hope my cousin isn’t bothering you.”

Dany shook her head quickly. “Not at all.”

Jenny hummed and smiled, but cast a warning glance at Lyanna, who stuck her tongue out in response. “Well,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her perfectly starched uniform. “We’ll be moving along to the surgery now. I have a few patients to practice on tonight, so I hope you’ve practiced.”

Dany held up her piece of leather for Jenny to inspect and the older woman hummed appreciatively. “Wonderful work, Daenerys. Maybe you can teach Lyanna a thing or two about proper first aid.”

With that, she walked back to the front of the room and began directing the girls to their respective wards. Dany and Lyanna were directed to a young man who’d suffered scraped and cuts to his arms. “Lost a fight with a blackberry bramble,” he’d said bashfully as Dany worked to roll his sleeves up. She and Lyanna stitched the deepest cuts with short, neat stitches, and applied a soothing balm all over. After that, they’d attended an older gentleman with a deep cut to his cheek from a fishing hook, and a young boy who’d got his finger caught in a rat trap. As the night shift progressed, the patients dwindled, until Dany and Lyanna were stuck sweeping the surgery, with no one left to practice stitches on.

“This is bloody boring, isn’t it,” Lyanna said, throwing her broom down. Dany peeked over her shoulder; Jenny was busy attending one of the nurses who’d stuck herself badly with her needle.

“Come on, miss priss, sit down a minute. You’ve been running around like a chicken with it’s head off all night, take a break.”

Lyanna upended her dust bucket and sat down; after a moment, Dany followed suit, sitting on a box of linens to be folded. Lyanna pulled a packet of dried sardines from her skirt pockets and offered them to Dany, who took some hesitantly. When the other girl wasn’t looking, she stuffed them in her apron pocket.

Through the small hospital window, they could just begin to see pink clouds signaling the dawn. “That’s pretty,” Lyanna commented, pointing to the pink and lilac clouds. “Shame the windows aren’t bigger.”

“Think of the draft if they were,” Dany said, and they both giggled. Dany was about to ask Lyanna about her cousinhood with Jenny when the doors to the surgery burst open.

“There she is!” “Miss Targaryen!”

She instantly recognized the uniforms of the college security and cursed. Someone must have gone to check on her in her rooms and found her missing. She hoped Missandei was alright. Frantically, Dany searched for an exit strategy. Lyanna noticed her dismay, and stood, blocking her from the view of the men.

“Evening, boys. Don’t you know this is a Red Cross surgery? Ladies only, I’m afraid.”

One of the guards tried to brush her off, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’re here for Miss Targaryen. She’s not supposed to be here.”

At his touch, Lyanna bristled, fists clenching at her sides. “Don’t you know it’s very rude to touch a lady without her permission?”

She looked back at Dany and winked, then flicked her eyes open to the supply closet. Following her gaze, Dany saw that the linens room had a staircase going down to the laundry. She mouthed a thank you to her new friend, then darted through the open door to the closet, bolting it behind her. She could hear the guards shout, followed by the sound of someone falling. “Oops,” Lyanna said, her voice slightly muffled by the door, and Dany grinned. She ran, taking the stairs two at a time until she reached the laundry. Once through, she found the door to the outside, nearly tripping in her haste to make it out.

The cold air hit her in full force once she shut the laundry door behind her. Her nice uniform wasn’t made to withstand the northern cold without an overcoat, even in the summer. She surveyed her escape path options. To the right was the downtown area, where she could smell the bakeries as they bagged their early morning shift. To the left, the road back to the college. Not an option. She shivered, and rubbed her hands together. Straight ahead was the Godswood, an old cemetery that lay in between the new town and the ruins of Old Winterfell. Dany knew the guards wouldn’t follow her there. Practically no northern person dared go to the ruins.

She looked both ways before crossing the street. There were only a couple people in New Winter Town who owned the newfangled steam carriages, but a wayward farmer on horseback could pose a threat to any distracted pedestrian. Once across, she ran as quickly as she could in her patent heels, tripping over cold marshy terf.

The Godswood was as imposing as its name suggested. Surrounded by a wrought iron fence, ornate in the style of the previous King, who’d been of Dornish descent, the land seemed alive and eery. Dany pried at the latch with her fingers, but it was rusted shut. Behind her, she heard shouts coming from the hospital. They wouldn’t be able to see her there, but they would be closing in soon. She tried again, pithing her fingers in the attempt to open the gate.

“Come on, please, please open!” she cried. She heard a soft meow by her feet. A black cat wove between her legs, tail brushing against her skin. It looked up at her, eyes wide, and meowed again.

“What on earth—oh!” Dany fished in her pockets for the dried sardines she’d tucked away earlier. “Do you smell this, kitty?” The cat rubbed its head against her calf and mewled, weaving faster around her legs. Dany ducked down, holding the treat in her fingers. “If I give you this, can you show me a way in? Please, I need to hide.” She felt silly talking to the cat, but as she finished speaking, she swore she saw the cat nod its head. Dany offered the piece of fish, and the black cat took it, gnashing its needle-like teeth until the treat was gone. Then, it turned and darted through the grass to the side of the fence. Dany stood quickly and ran after.

The black cat led her to the place in the iron fence where the bars had been bent and wrought away from each other, forming a circle in the fence. The cat sat back and waited, looking between Dany and the circle.

“Thank you,” Dany said, and tossed another dried sardine to the black cat. It caught it in its teeth and leapt away, vanishing into the trees. Dany turned back to the circle in the fence. It was unnatural, and blacker than the rest of the iron, which was mottled orange with rust and decay. Dany dipped her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out a little pair of sewing scissors, though what good they would do she did not know. Ducking her head, she stepped through the iron circle.

A shiver ran down her spine. Inside the cemetery, the sky overhead was dim and grey. Beyond the borders of the gate, Dany could see the sunrise, but within it was as though all colour was pulled from the world.

She took a few tentative steps. All around her, empty rose bushes grew from the dark earth. None bore any blooms, though it was midsummer and well into the season for them. They grew in the shade of the Weirwood trees, which towered over all. Dany had never seen one up close; each tree bore a different face, carved deeply into the bark. From the eyes of the trees, a red fluid dripped. Dany knew—hoped— it was sap, but the image was so similar to blood, she had to suppress a shudder at the sight. Some trees had smiling faces, others angry. She wandered from tree to tree, studying the faces, until she reached one, the smallest of the trees. It had a face twisted in agony, mouth ajar in a scream. Dany felt a knot form in her throat as she gazed, unable to look away. Entranced, she drew nearer, hand raising to reach for the pale bark, white as bones. Her breath came shallowly, hand trembling as it hovered over the screaming face.

Too late, she heard the rustle behind her of leaves and footsteps.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't clear enough yet, I'm going for a bit of a 1914 eve-of-WW1 vibe for the 'modern' portion of the story. Let me know what you think in the comments, and I hope you enjoy! :D


	3. The Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been months, I know. Sorry for the short update, but I wanted to get this out there and get back into the groove. My muse has finally returned!! So expect updates on all my fics this week. 
> 
> Short but sweet, hopefully this will scratch the itch for anyone still waiting for an update. :D

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The girl froze, her hand mere inches away from the Weirwood tree. Just a hair’s breadth from oblivion, and she had no idea. Jon stepped out of the shadow of the trees, his footsteps almost deafening compared to the dead silence of the Godswood. The girl still hadn’t turned around, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly with her breath. She was afraid. Jon scowled at her back. After all these years undisturbed, he’d thought that the people of Winter Town had finally well and truly forgotten about the Godswood. It had been so long since the last time a child had run past the treeline, darting in between trunks and fallen branches on a dare. It had been longer still since they’d erected the iron fence. And since then, nothing.

He cocked his head to one side, studying this intruder. Why, after all this time alone, had someone come?

No matter; Jon knew the dangers of the Weirwoods. He’d grown up with the stories, and since his cursed life began in the Godswood, he’d witnessed first hand what it did to those who touched them. Best if this lost soul found her way home, he thought.

“Return to your home, lost one,” he said, pitching his voice deeper. He hoped her fear combined with his tone would send her running. “The Godswood is no place for a lady.” He rustled the red leaves of the trees for good effect. It was a neat trick he’d learned after a while, that he could manipulate to a certain extent some of his surroundings. He waited a moment, watching her reaction. For a single breath, it seemed like she would turn heel and run, her shoulders trembling.

Much to his surprise, a moment later she whirled around, anger blazing in her eyes.

“Like hell the Godswood is no place for a lady!” she cried, her hands curled into little fists. “Honestly, that’s such a medieval thing to say! I thought we were way past that kind of archaic sexist religious tradition!”

Her outburst startled him, but not more than her appearance. She was fair, like the wildling princess Val had been, but even more so, her skin and hair fading into the white of the tree behind her. Her clothes were even more strange. She wore a stiff white dress with an apron, the skirt of which was indecently short. Her legs were bare, and Jon could see that she was shivering in her garb, ill-fitting for the northern temperatures. He averted his eyes, feeling a prickle of shame wash over him.

“Apologies, my lady. I wasn’t aware you were undressed.” This too, apparently was the wrong thing to say. Her answering shout of anger baffled him, as it seemed she was more upset at the fact that he thought she was undressed then at him having seen her in such a state.

“I am not undressed,” she huffed. “I am wearing a nurse’s uniform, which is quite respectable.”

Jon nodded, mute. What a strange creature! Even her voice was foreign to him, the accent soft and lilting in places, and short and clipped in others. Nothing like the northern brogue he was accustomed to, nor even the nasal King’s Landing dialect. Not wishing to upset her further, he decided to try and devise her origin.

“Of course, my lady. I must be unaccustomed to the traditions of your land. Where is that, exactly?”

She peered at him, chancing a step forward. Almost instinctively, Jon took a step back. She froze, her expression becoming more wary. In the fringes of his mind, Jon felt Ghost prowling the fence line. Though he knew it was unlikely that this girl could do him harm, it was a comfort to feel the presence of his wolf nearby.

She spoke again, that soft voice the loudest thing to grace his ears in what felt like centuries.

“I’m from Essos.” Ah, that he knew of, at least. Arya had spent most of her childhood dreaming of Essos, spinning fanciful tales of Valyerian princesses and fire breathing dragons. He wondered often if his youngest sister had ever gotten to see the free city of Braavos.

“Ah, Essos. I thought the accent was familiar,” he said smoothly. “And your name?”

She regarded him with suspicion at that, for the first time seeming to look around at her surroundings. It was a risky move, it was true, but Jon was too curious. Knowing a name meant power, the power to summon, and to dismiss. He’d done it only once, with a messenger boy lost in the woods. He’d been too trusting, and Jon had felt terrible about it afterward, the knowledge that he could summon the child at his whim. But if this girl gave him her name, he could banish her from the Godswood, return to his lonely existence with Ghost. He preferred that to the noise of the living. They were too bright, too loud and vivacious for him now. No, this grey world suited him. Abandoned by the gods and the living.

“My name is Jon,” he offered. It did nothing for her to know his given name. She would need the full name for it to mean anything, and he doubted a girl from Essos would know a bastard of Stark.

Still, she said nothing. Her violet eyes, the only color aside from the red of the Weirwoods, unnerved him. It was so strange, to see color after so long.

“Where am I?” she said, avoiding his question. Jon rolled his eyes; he was beginning to tire of sharing his plot of land with someone.

“The Godswood,” he said. “Winter Town.”

She frowned. “Don’t you mean New Winter Town?”

What a strange person! Were all Essosi so obtuse? “No,” he said. “I mean Winter Town. What is your name, lady?”

She looked at him askance, violet eyes seeming to take in much more than Jon was comfortable with. “I don’t think I should tell you that,” she said, glancing around as though for an escape. Jon smiled faintly. Ghost was close by—if the girl wanted to try anything, she’d have him to deal with. A flash of movement in the corner of his eye set him at ease. Soon enough, she’d see the wolf and run. No one could stand in the face of his wolf. No one.

Instead, it was Jon who felt a tingle of dread as the girl broke into a smile. That shouldn’t be happening, what could she be—?

A piercing shriek echoed through the wood, forcing Jon to clap his hands to his ears. As he ducked his head, blinking from the sudden assault of sound, he saw a streak of black racing across the cold yard. A black cat, the girl hot on its heels, running full speed towards the fence line. Gritting his teeth, Jon watched them disappear through a hole in the fence, just wide enough for the girl to crawl through. The girl ran without looking back, but the cat sat just on the other side of the iron, looking at him with red eyes. 

Jon cursed, then snapped his fingers, vanishing into the shadows.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited because I liked the alternative version of this chapter better. Apologies for the drastic change, but this better suits where the story is going. Still getting back into the groove of writing, so please bear with me!


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